


A Very Commie Christmas

by Vaecordia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred has seen too many things, Christmas fic, Fluff, M/M, Some Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaecordia/pseuds/Vaecordia
Summary: It's Christmas, and Arthur holds his annual Christmas party. Of course, Alfred and Ivan are invited, but neither remembered to do any shopping beforehand - so they're stuck with a visit to Harrods on its busiest days. It turns out a lot different that expected.





	A Very Commie Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!

“Alfred.”

“A minute!”

“I thought you wanted this to be “quick and painless”?” Ivan shot up the stairs. 

There was a soft curse before Alfred appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in probably all the winter clothing he had packed - a scarf, a long and thick coat (Ivan knew he was wearing at  _ least _ two shirts and a jumper underneath), jeans (and probably tights under, but Ivan doubted Alfred would admit to them), his favourite and only pair of earmuffs and the mittens Ivan had bought him the year before. “Yeah, but I couldn’t find my scarf. And it’s friggin’ freezing. Arthur always rearranges my stuff when I unpack, blame him.” He fumbled through his coat pockets, the mittens making his movements clumsier than usual. 

Ivan reached over to dig through Alfred’s pockets, found his key and unlocked the door. 

Alfred huffed, already miffed at the cold weather. “Let’s go,” he said, before stepping out. Ivan caught the umbrella from the doorway, knowing that they’d been promised rain or hail or snow - or a combination of all. They hurried their way to the metro station under the grey sky (Alfred wanted to sprint, Ivan was leisurely walking behind him), and from there went to the city centre. 

After Ivan managed to convince Alfred to leave the warmth of the Underground, because  _ we have business to tend to, Alfred _ , they came out into the cold London winter - and rain. Actually, it wasn’t even proper rain - it was an annoying wet mixture of snow and rain. Ivan managed to get the umbrella over them before Alfred could begin moaning. Ivan would never understand how despite Alfred having areas in the north (not mentioning Alaska, where Alfred was known to usually spend a week in during winter), the man would whine at the first hint of cold weather - be it in Russia or Britain or anywhere. 

Brompton Road was hellishly busy, and the more they navigated through the crowd of bustling people, the more the both of them dreaded their day’s plan. They’d only arrived in London the day before for Arthur’s annual Christmas party (dubbed by Alfred and Matthew as their “ex-Empire dad’s yearly where-have-my-colonies-gone gathering”), and now had to go Christmas shopping. Neither had had the foresight to do it in their respective countries, and now were forced to settle for the Sunday rush of Christmas shoppers in Harrods. 

Alfred had began going on and on, most likely about things they needed to buy - although when Ivan listened closer, after distinguishing the sentence, “Matthew’s a complete  _ dick  _ with his whole Bombardier deal, he keeps bitching about the tariffs he brought onto himself!” he really had no idea what Alfred was speaking of. 

It wasn’t long before they arrived to the grand and lavish department store Harrods, and Ivan felt an immediate sense of being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and light and things there were. Alfred was already halfway through taking off nearly every layer of warm clothing he had on himself, having removed his coat, his jumper, his gloves, his earmuffs and his scarf.

“Okay, we’re here. Where do we start?” Alfred asked, and Ivan dug into his pocket for the list Alfred had made of presents and things they needed to find. Ivan handed the list to Alfred, who began reading off it and explaining where they’d find things. At one point, he paused. “I’ve been here too many times if I can list off every floor this easily. C’mon, let’s go, let’s start from the top and go down from there.”

Of course, it was a journey in itself, navigating the ground floor between the different islands of makeup and beauty products, Ivan somewhat astonished at the sheer number of different shades of lipstick and blush that were there - there was no way that many colours could even exist. (Once he saw the first hint of blue lipstick, however, he gave up trying to understand people’s tastes - if that colour had been produced and marketed, it had to sell.)

“Ivan, come on!” Alfred ushered, trying not to go too fast for fear of losing Ivan - though losing a six-foot-too-many-inches-tall Russian guy in the middle of a sea of Brits wasn’t too easy a task. They reached the elevators, by which point Ivan seemed somewhat out of breath already.

“Is this all really necessary?” he asked Alfred in the over-crowded lift. 

“What do you mean?” Alfred’s eyebrows had that small confused arch that was so very characteristic of him. “What’s necessary?”   
Ivan shrugged. “Merely that this all seems… rather excessive.”

Alfred paused. “Uhm… sure? I don’t know, seems normal to me. It’s a bit busy here today, that’s all.”

“I meant the amount of… things here. Products. How many shades of lipstick do they need?”

Alfred laughed. “The people who come here are usually pretty stinkin’ rich, and British. They need seven shades a day, and another one for special occasions.”

Ivan smiled, and they rode the elevator in silence to the fifth floor. Alfred deemed Matthew in need of some new sportswear, and Ivan was finally told the relationship between Matthew’s Christmas present and the US tariffs on Canada.

“Matthew’s bitchy over the stupid planes or whatever, so I’ll bet it’s because he broke his favourite hockey stick or something,” Alfred explained. 

Though they didn’t get a hockey stick, they managed to find a nice hoodie for Matthew - even though Alfred claimed Matthew already had too many, but he’d been once told by the Canadian: “What does too many hoodies mean? That sentence doesn’t exist.” 

“Ok, now we can skip the fourth and go straight to the third floor - that’s where all the cool stuff is. Trust me, Britain doesn’t get much cooler than the toy kingdom or the tech section here,” Alfred told Ivan, before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the escalators.

The thing was, it wasn’t just any escalators in any random department store - this was Harrods. Alfred said it was called the ‘Egyptian room,’ but Ivan was confused as to what part exactly he was supposed to look at. When he focused, he could make out the Ancient Egypt-like diagrams, patterns and hieroglyphs on the beige “stone” walls, but it was rather confusing - the colourful artwork was crowded by Christmas lighting, white frivolous decorations serving as support for bright yellows, blues, reds, purples and greens. It was colours galore, and having never been to Harrods before, the extravagance of it was rather off-putting. Combined with the crowd of upper-class Englishmen and women, the overall effect it had on Ivan was… perhaps not the best he could have had.

Alfred went on about their next steps. “First we’ll stop at Toy Kingdom, because there’s always the coolest things ever there, and also I’m pretty Jett and James want something from there - oh, and Peter too, and then we’ll walk around the furniture place if we can find something nice… Even if Arthur probably just wants tea, he also really needs a new couch-”

“You are not buying him a new couch, are you?” 

Alfred laughed. “No, but I might just buy him a new carpet or small table or pillows that doesn’t  _ match _ his couch and Francis will force him to change it. Francis hates that couch more than I do.”

They got off the escalator, and Alfred steered them to the furniture section. There were more couches, more tables, more random decorations than Ivan cared to count - and the place seemed to continue for multiple hallways. Alfred continued speaking, happily drifting through the different displays and pointing out things that caught his attention (granted, many things managed to catch his attention).

“Oh, and Francis is coming too, I forgot - I guess we gotta get him something too, seeing as he’s, like, a second dad to me or something, so d’you think he’d like incense? Or maybe some  cologne. Although he probably has loads of those. Or a new tie, which is a classic - oh, hey! He had that new fancy suit, I’ll bet he wants a new tie, wasn’t it a kinda blue-kinda-grey shade? I think he’d like a nice tie with that - how ridiculous ties d’you reckon we can find?”

A rather nice coffee table caught Ivan’s attention, but when he turned the tag to show its price, his eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t this place somewhat… expensive?”

Alfred turned to him. “Well, yeah. That’s the point. It’s the most famous department store in this entire country - okay, actually, in probably the entire world? Also the stuff they have here is like prime quality,” Alfred explained. 

Ivan looked at the price tag again with an almost - could Alfred call it  _ disdainful? -  _ look on his face. There was a very distinct pause in Alfred’s mind, and a few select memories of his decided to appear right then and there.

He  _ knew  _ that look, and if it was anything to go by, he would be haunted by a ghost and today would  _ not  _ be enjoyable.

No, that was irrational. He was overthinking it.

However, as predicted, the trip didn’t turn out much better than it had started. 

It didn’t matter whether it was in the toy section, where Alfred showed Ivan the cool robots and other toys that were there, or whether it was in the tech section, or in the artwork section, or the menswear, but everywhere they went Ivan threw around certain  _ questions  _ that made Alfred doubt the entirety of his life for the past twenty or so years.

“Have you looked at this price?”

“I could have a suit tailor-made at home and it would cost a quarter of this.”

He could swear he heard Ivan mutter, “Bourgeoisie,” with an exasperated look on his face, at one point. Alfred had half a mind to tell him to  _ let the rich people be _ .

The look of amusement, confusion and (dare Alfred say it?) derision at the number of people, the number and variety of products, and especially at their prices never left Ivan’s face.

Ivan was, as far as Alfred was aware, still a goddamn capitalist country, yet he had to make a scene about the place the likes of which Alfred hadn’t seen Ivan pull before. And he was not appreciating the flashbacks he was getting.

And the moment Ivan scoffed at the price of a golden bluetooth speaker in the shape of a bulldog with sunglasses, Alfred decided he was glad they were in Europe and that he was legally allowed to drink, based on his ID. He felt in need of a strong Guinness right then and there. Ivan turned to Alfred, and his face turned to outright confusion.

“Alfred, are you alright?”   
Alfred blinked. “What?”

“You look rather pallid,” Ivan stated, and Alfred tried to squash the memories of a certain _communist_ scoffing at the “decadent capitalist society” from popping up again.

“I’m fine,” Alfred huffed. He did a quick mental checklist, and upon realising that they had everything they needed and came here for, he announced, “We’re going to a pub.” Alfred had seen enough capitalism for one day.

It was a small problem to get their coats and scarves and other winter clothing back on before going outside, but they managed it. Alfred had been silent pretty much the entire time after leaving the building, with a look as if he’d seen a ghost (which Ivan recognised easily from their horror movie evenings).

As they made their way out and through the streets, the fresh air seemed to help Alfred recover somewhat. “Arthur told me about this place down a few streets that’s pretty good or well-known,” Alfred explained as they drew away from the busy Brompton Road. “It has this really English name too, something like Lion’s Mane or Head or something.” 

They turned another corner, and arrived in front of the place. 

Warm air wafted onto and around them when Alfred opened the door, bustling in with his shopping bags and all. Ivan followed him, until Alfred paused and huffed. “It’s completely packed. Let’s try that other place along the way.”

It turned out that, in the end, every single pub managed to be completely overloaded, and they resigned themselves to returning to Arthur’s home.

When they walked in, the house was still empty - Matthew hadn’t landed yet, and Arthur (and by extension, Francis) were probably still at Downing Street - Francis had decided to tag along solely to “irritate” Arthur (Arthur claimed that was Francis’ aim, despite everyone knowing that was a blatant lie, but no one deemed it necessary to call him out on it). 

After having shed every single additional layer of clothing and dropping off their bags in their respective -  _ separate  _ \- rooms (Arthur had made precise and careful arrangements -  _ ‘no international scandals under  _ my _ bleeding roof’ _ , to which Francis had choked on his wine while stifling a laugh), they went back downstairs and Alfred promptly beelined for and crashed on the couch, Ivan following suit.

“Boy, was that an experience,” Alfred sighed.

Ivan readjusted himself, and so did Alfred. He was now fit snugly under Ivan’s arm and against his chest, his body sprawled along the couch’s length and his legs hanging over the armrest, while Ivan sat at the other end. 

“What do you mean?” Ivan asked. “That was not so horrible as I imagined, just somewhat excessive for my tastes.”

“ _ Somewhat? _ ” Alfred craned his neck to look Ivan in the eyes with disbelief. “Dude, I literally saw a ghost walking right up alongside me in there!”

“A ghost?” Ivan’s voice was laced with amusement, the same kind a parent would use at a child’s fantastic adventure stories.

“Hi, yeah, throwback Thursday to the Soviet Union - dude, you’re a capitalist now, you’re supposed to live in places like these!”

Ivan laughed. “I do not think that’s quite how everyone else perceives capitalism.”

“Whatever, man, that was a scare you gave me right there.” Alfred paused. “A red scare, actually.”

He felt Ivan momentarily stop moving, barely breathing. Then there was a shift, and Alfred was shoved off of Ivan and left to drop back onto the couch. 

“That was terrible, Alfred,” Ivan huffed, but there was a clear hint of a smile on his lips as he went to the small, old chest in the corner of the room, where Arthur kept all his blankets folded up neatly. 

“That was a  _ great  _ pun! And you totally deserved that!” For that, he earned a blanket to his face, and Ivan then came back to the couch.

“I ‘totally’ did not,” he countered as he began poking Alfred to shift aside to let him fit. Alfred refused to sit up, so Ivan settled instead for lying next to Alfred on the couch. It was rather a tight fit, what with two grown men on a normal-sized couch, but neither seemed to care. 

“Totally did, for scaring me like that. I don’t like ghosts.” Alfred yawned, and Ivan flicked his nose gently. 

“We all know that,  _ vesnushki, _ ” Ivan said, laughing softly at Alfred look of affrontement. 

“Whatever. I’m dead tired right now, so maybe we can just chill here for a bit until they come back or til Mattie arrives,” Alfred suggested. “You’re real warm and comfy and this is nice,” he continued, melding his body next to Ivan’s and nuzzling into his chest. The blanket managed to mostly cover them both, especially when Alfred tangled his legs with Ivan’s and hugged him closer. 

“That is a very attractive idea.” Ivan began stroking Alfred’s hair, before removing Alfred’s glasses, reaching behind and placing them on the coffee table. Alfred let out an appreciative hum, and he sighed in content. 

There was a moment of silence. Alfred interrupted it. “I hate this couch.”

Ivan chuckled, before petting Alfred’s hair. “Shush. I thought you wanted to take a nap.”

“Well I didn’t say that, but now you mention it that sounds great.”

\----

“OI, ALFRED!”

“Sometimes I do wonder how you are not already deaf, with the amount if yelling you do,” Francis sniffed, brushing snow off his coat before hanging it into the hallway.

“He was supposed to get the ham, and I want to make sure that I didn’t buy this ham,” Arthur said, lifting the bag in his hand, “for nothing. He would be forgetful enough to not do what I specifically asked him to.” 

They heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and in came Matthew. 

“Oh, Matthew, you’re he-”

“Matthieu,  _ mon fils _ !” Francis interjected, giving him the customary French cheek kisses. 

“Yeah, arrived an hour or so ago.”

Francis turned to Arthur. “Alfred must still be out with Ivan-”

“Oh no,” Matthew smiled, a cheeky and devious grin that both Europeans knew bode nothing good. It was the same smile Alfred had worn before his Easter prank (also known as the reason why rabbits and screwdrivers - both tool  _ and _ drink - were no longer allowed at meetings). “He’s here all right. Both are.”

“That lad needs to learn how to respond-”

“Don’t think he heard you,” Matthew stated. 

“I think Paris heard him,” Francis said with a confused tone. 

“He’s sleeping on your couch - well, more like on Ivan on your couch. It’s sweet. I have a lot of blackmail and prank material now.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stomped to the living room. Sure enough, Alfred had mostly climbed on top of Ivan, huddled under the blanket. Ivan’s arms were holding Alfred tight, one hand around his body and the other in his hair. 

Arthur leaned on the couch armchair. “MR. JONES AND MR. BRAGINSKY!”

Alfred jerked up, simultaneously somehow managing to shove Ivan off the couch. And seeing as he had been  _ on _ Ivan, he ended up on the floor too. There was a panicked screech and a groan, before Alfred stumbled up from the floor.

He turned around, and seeing Ivan rubbing his back where he’d landed with Alfred on him, Alfred offered his hand to help him up. He only then seemed to realise he’d been woken up, and turned to see Arthur’s deadpan expression. 

“Did you get the ham?” Arthur asked. 

Alfred blanched. “I… uh - I mean, I meant to?”

Matthew was laughing in the background, while Arthur rolled his eyes. “Thank God I knew I could trust you to be that forgetful,” he muttered, before going to the kitchen.

“It’s Ivan’s fault! He scared me with his whole the-Soviet-Union’s-back act!”

“Al, please, that’s sad even from you.”

“I was scared!”

“Well I can believe that, seeing as you needed your Russian bear to comfort you, eh?” Matthew asked, pulling up a photo on his phone and showing it to Alfred.

“That’s - no - what is that-” 

“It is a picture of you and me, sleeping on the couch,” Ivan explained. “Have I told you you look adorable when you sleep?” 

“Let them be, Matthieu,” Francis interjected before Alfred could begin sputtering. He swung an arm around Matthew and directing him away from the other two. “L’amour is sweet, and should be allowed to have its course. That includes naps,” Francis concluded. 

And as Alfred whirled around to huff at Ivan, Ivan simply wrapped his arms and himself around Alfred, and pulled them both back onto the couch.

Ivan sighed contentedly as Alfred wriggled around. “Shush, now, it is Christmas and the both of us should just enjoy the peace and quiet-”

“ _ Francis get your bloody hands off that! _ ”

“- of the holidays.” He felt Alfred snicker in his arms, and he smiled.

“You’re a big sap, you know?”

“Only for you,  _ vesnushki, _ ” Ivan smiled and kissed Alfred’s hair, and felt him burrow deeper into his arms. It was set to be a wonderful and lovely Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> vesnushki = freckles in russian. It's derevosky's wonderful idea, thank you for it!


End file.
